eleven
I can’t help it. I duck.
And then I think, Really? Did you really think your dad was going to shoot you?
What kind of terrible daughter am I?
“Dad!” Jeremy exclaims, sounding just as shocked as I feel. “What the—?”
Dad’s eyes are wide and narrowed at the same time. His finger is poised on the trigger, like he’s about to shoot at any moment. Does this mean he really is crazy?
He looks around the room, from me to Jeremy to Pam, then slowly lowers the gun. “You kids all right in here?” he asks.
I can’t bring myself to nod. I look over at Jeremy and Pam, who look as terrified as I feel. Pam’s eyes are wide and her face is white. “You pointed a gun at us!” she whimpers.
“I’m sorry.” Dad lowers the gun completely, and color fills his cheeks. “I thought—I heard someone yelling. It sounded like—I didn’t know if someone had found us.”
I realize belatedly that the bang I heard wasn’t the sound of the gun going off. It was just Dad whipping the door open really hard. The same Dad who used to lecture us whenever we’d slam a door at home. This isn’t our house, he’d tell us, since most of the places we lived were rentals. You need to treat it with respect.
The place where we are right now isn’t our house either, but Dad doesn’t seem too concerned with treating it with respect.
“You kids need to get some sleep,” says Dad. “It’s past midnight.”
“We’re fine,” Jeremy says curtly. “We slept in the car.”
“Still. You need to quiet down so everyone else can get to sleep.” Dad jerks his head in the direction of the bedroom he just came from. “Come on. There’s room in here for the two of you to sleep on the floor.”
I know exactly why he wants us in that bedroom. It’s so we can’t snoop around, can’t talk, can’t plot or speculate or anything. It’s so we can’t talk with Pam. So we can’t find anything out.
“There’s a couch out here,” I remind him. “We’d be more comfortable if we just stay here.”
“At least one of us could stay out here,” Jeremy adds, and I’m about to protest—if one of us is in the living room and the other one is in the bedroom, we won’t be able to talk—but then I realize that whoever is out in the living room can still snoop around.
Dad shakes his head. “I’d feel more comfortable with both of you in the room with me. I’m a little… on edge right now.” His eyes flicker to the gun and I understand. Maybe he isn’t just trying to prevent us from finding stuff out. Maybe he’s actually worried about our safety.
I thought this was a safe house.
Without any more complaints, I walk past him into the bedroom. Jeremy stays put.
“Jeremy, come on,” says Dad.
“He can sleep in my room if you guys don’t have enough space,” Pam offers. Her face colors and she amends, “Or, well, really I guess it would be more appropriate for Krystie to sleep in my room. Right?”
So she went from thinking we were spies to wanting us to sleep in her room with her? What’s up with that?
“Thanks for the offer, but they’ll be fine,” Dad tells Pam. “Kids, let’s go before we wake your sister with all our chatter.”
Jeremy makes a move toward the couch, but Dad’s gaze is unusually stern, so he relents. Dad makes small cots out of blankets for us on the floor, and with nothing else to do, we fall asleep.
I wake up to sun streaming through the small windows and the sound of Rachel’s little voice chattering away behind the closed door. For a moment, I forget where I am. I think I’m back home in my bed, and everything that happened in the last day has been nothing but a weird, confusing dream. Then I realize I’m lying on the floor in an unfamiliar bedroom. My neck is stiff and my back is sore.
I yawn and get up. The rest of my family must be up already; I’m the only one left in the room. I peek out the window and see nothing but rolling farmland and thick woods. We really are in the middle of nowhere.
Excitement comes over me as I realize this is a perfect opportunity to snoop. Keeping my ears open for the sounds of anyone opening the door or talking about going into the bedroom, I get to work opening drawers and cabinets, peeking under the nightstand and the little dresser. There’s got to be something significant here. But all I’m finding is gray T-shirts and worn-out jeans and socks and underwear. Geez, people say my wardrobe is boring. At least I wear some color and variety.
Finally, in the nightstand drawer, under a can of deodorant and a pack of gum, I find something that looks promising. It’s a piece of paper with addresses on it. 95 Kirpack Lane, 507 Ridgemont Street, 21 Harris Hook Road...
The door to the room bangs open and I jump back, guiltily throwing the piece of paper back into the drawer. But it’s just Rachel. “You’re up!” she exclaims. “I’m going to go play outside with Pam. Wanna come?”
“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” I tell her, realizing I’m starving. “You go play and I’ll come outside later.”
“Okay!” Rachel turns and skips out of the room.
I feel slightly snubbed. Okay? At home, Rachel constantly begs me to play with her. She won’t stop asking until I either relent or start yelling at her. She’s never satisfied with just an, “I’ll play later.”
I’m about to go back to reading the list of addresses, but Mom breezes into the room. “Oh good, you’re up.”
“Yeah,” I say, positioning my body in front of the drawer so she won’t notice that it’s open.
“I made pancakes.” Mom’s smiling as if we’re just at home and this is an ordinary Saturday or something, but I can see the worry in her eyes. “I was coming in to wake you up so you could get some before they’re all gone.”
I make myself nod. “Okay. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”
“All right.” Mom looks at me, compassion in her eyes now. “I know this is hard on you kids. But eventually it’ll be over. Dad and Bill are working on a plan right now about how they’re going to finish Dermott for once and for all.”
Is this my mother speaking? My mom, who got mad at Dad for letting us watch Star Wars when we were little because she thought it was too violent? She’s now talking about finishing someone for once and for all?
I wait for her to leave the room so I can go back to looking at the list of names. But she sets about folding up the blankets on the floor and tidying up the room, so I just wait until her back is turned and then stuff the piece of paper in my pocket.
I go out to the kitchen to eat breakfast, and moments later, Mom comes and joins me. We both sit there, not talking, which is weird because up until now, Mom and I have always had a great relationship. I’ve always told her about everything that’s going on at school, and she’s always been a wonderful listener. But now—in the face of danger and when everything is so uncertain—we have nothing to talk about. At least, nothing I actually want to talk about that she’s allowed to tell me about.
So instead I stare out the window at the rolling landscape. Rachel and Pam are running around, chasing each other out there. Pam picks Rachel up and gives her a piggyback ride. A fleeting feeling of jealousy passes through me. I’m Rachel’s big sister. I’m the one she always wants to play with. And now she’s having a blast with this girl we only just met yesterday?
“Where are the guys?” I ask Mom.
“Jeremy’s in the shower, and Dad and Bill are talking in the truck.”
“About how to take Dermott out.”
Mom nods.
“Where even is Dermott now? Do they know?”
“No. But they have… ways… of finding out.”
“What do you mean?”
Mom shakes her head. “Never mind. You don’t need to worry about it. We’re going to stay here, you and me and Jeremy and Rachel, until Dad and Bill have taken care of Dermott. This is a safe place.”
But a safe place isn’t good enough. I want answers.
At that moment, the bathroom door opens and Jeremy steps out, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, drying his hair with a towel. “Hey Krystie,” he says. “After you’re done eating, we should go out and play with Pam and Rachel.”
It’s such an odd request for Jeremy to make—even at home, I’m the one who always plays with Rachel. But it only takes me a second to realize why he’s suggesting what he’s suggesting.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Maybe we can play some sort of game or something.”
If Mom’s suspicious of our motives, she doesn’t show it. “Be safe,” she warns us. “Stay in sight of the house. I don’t know this area. I don’t know what’s around.”
The moment we’re out the door, Jeremy looks at me. “We have to get Rachel inside so we can press Pam for information.”
“We could just ask her in front of Rachel. Couldn’t we?”
Jeremy shakes his head. “Probably not a good idea. Rachel has ears like a bat and a mouth like a parrot. Even if she doesn’t understand what we’re talking about, she’s sure to repeat it to Mom or Dad.”
He has a good point. “So… how are we going to get her to go back inside?”
“I guess she doesn’t have to go inside, exactly. Maybe you could take her a little distance away while I talk to Pam.”
I frown. Then I’ll miss out on all the first-hand information. “Or you could take her a little distance away and I could talk to Pam,” I suggest. “She’d probably be more likely to want to talk to another girl. Especially because she thinks boys are dumb.”
Jeremy scowls. “Only because she’s never actually met kids her age in real life and gets all her information from those stupid girl books about drama and crushes.”
“Still.” I shrug. “It doesn’t change what she believes.” I start making my way over to where Pam and Rachel are spinning around in circles, holding each other’s hands.
“Hold up,” said Jeremy. “I don’t want to miss out on whatever Pam says.”
“Well, neither do I!”
We don’t have a plan, but we head toward Pam and Rachel together. “Hey Rachel!” I call out.
She doesn’t answer. She’s too busy laughing as Pam tickles her.
“Rachel!” I say, more loudly this time, and Pam stops tickling her and they both look up.
“Krystie! Jeremy! You should play with us. Pam is so fun!” Rachel exclaims, a grin taking over her whole face. She has nothing to be afraid of. To her, the weirdness of yesterday has all evaporated into a sun-filled day and a large grassy field and a new friend to play with.
“Actually, Rache, you need to go inside for a minute. Mommy wants you,” Jeremy says, making it up as he goes along. I frown, wishing he could have come up with an excuse that didn’t involve lying. Our parents always taught us that being honest is one of the most important things.
Of course, how much is honesty worth if you leave huge gaps of information out, such as Our last name isn’t really Jackson and We’ve had people chasing after us since before you were born?
Rachel pouts. “But I want to keep playing with Pam!”
“You can play more with Pam later,” Jeremy promises. “Go see Mommy now.”
Rachel takes Pam’s hand. “Come on, let’s go see what Mommy wants.”
“No!” Jeremy and I both exclaim at the same time.
Pam looks at us suspiciously.
“Rachel, um, I think Mommy wants to help you with something, uh, private,” I improvise, knowing that I’m now contributing to the lie and hating myself for it. “Like a secret for just you and her.”
“Pam can know the secret. She’s my best friend.”
An irrational sense of jealousy courses through me. Pam is not Rachel’s best friend. Rachel just met her last night. I’m Rachel’s best friend. I’m the one who’s been playing with her and singing to her and teaching her things since the day she was born.
“It’s a family secret,” I say, stressing the word family to reiterate the fact that Pam is not part of it. “Pam will be right here waiting for you when you come out.”
Pam is looking at both of us with a worried expression on her face, like she can tell something’s up but doesn’t know what.
“Maybe Mommy has a special treat for you,” Jeremy adds. “Maybe after you talk to her you can come back out and give some to Pam.”
Rachel’s face brightens at the prospect of a special treat. “Okay,” she says. “Pam, you stay right here. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as Rachel is gone, Jeremy and I both turn to Pam. She’s glaring at us distrustfully. “If you try to mug me,” she says threateningly, “I’ll beat you both into a pulp. I’m stronger than I look, and my dad’s been teaching me self-defense since I learned how to walk.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, two of us, one of you, I don’t think you’ll stand much of a chance. But lucky for you, that’s not why we’re here. We just want to finish the conversation we started last night.”
“There’s nothing more to say,” says Pam defiantly.
“Yeah, there is,” I argue. “You were laughing at us and saying our parents never told us anything. What is it that your dad told you that you don’t think we know?”
“If your parents don’t think you should know it, you shouldn’t know it,” Pam retorts in a smart-alecky tone of voice.
“We know about this,” I say, pulling the folded piece of paper out of my pocket. Pam lunges for it, but I hand it off to Jeremy, who opens it high above all of our heads.
“Kirpack Lane, Ridgemont Street, Harris Hook Road, Timbuckle Drive, Marilyn Way… any of these places mean anything to you?” Jeremy asks Pam.
Marilyn Way. There was a Marilyn Way near one of the places we used to live, maybe in Iowa or Wisconsin or something, I don’t really remember. But I remember that street name because there was a girl in my class at school named Marilyn, and I always used to wonder if Marilyn Way was named after her.
I gasp. “Jeremy, let me see that paper again.”
Jeremy hands me the paper, and I scan the page until my eyes fall on Marilyn Way and I see what city it’s located in: Ames, Iowa. I skim through the rest of the page, looking at only the cities this time.
“Jeremy,” I say shakily. “Every town on this list is somewhere we’ve lived.”
And then I think, Really? Did you really think your dad was going to shoot you?
What kind of terrible daughter am I?
“Dad!” Jeremy exclaims, sounding just as shocked as I feel. “What the—?”
Dad’s eyes are wide and narrowed at the same time. His finger is poised on the trigger, like he’s about to shoot at any moment. Does this mean he really is crazy?
He looks around the room, from me to Jeremy to Pam, then slowly lowers the gun. “You kids all right in here?” he asks.
I can’t bring myself to nod. I look over at Jeremy and Pam, who look as terrified as I feel. Pam’s eyes are wide and her face is white. “You pointed a gun at us!” she whimpers.
“I’m sorry.” Dad lowers the gun completely, and color fills his cheeks. “I thought—I heard someone yelling. It sounded like—I didn’t know if someone had found us.”
I realize belatedly that the bang I heard wasn’t the sound of the gun going off. It was just Dad whipping the door open really hard. The same Dad who used to lecture us whenever we’d slam a door at home. This isn’t our house, he’d tell us, since most of the places we lived were rentals. You need to treat it with respect.
The place where we are right now isn’t our house either, but Dad doesn’t seem too concerned with treating it with respect.
“You kids need to get some sleep,” says Dad. “It’s past midnight.”
“We’re fine,” Jeremy says curtly. “We slept in the car.”
“Still. You need to quiet down so everyone else can get to sleep.” Dad jerks his head in the direction of the bedroom he just came from. “Come on. There’s room in here for the two of you to sleep on the floor.”
I know exactly why he wants us in that bedroom. It’s so we can’t snoop around, can’t talk, can’t plot or speculate or anything. It’s so we can’t talk with Pam. So we can’t find anything out.
“There’s a couch out here,” I remind him. “We’d be more comfortable if we just stay here.”
“At least one of us could stay out here,” Jeremy adds, and I’m about to protest—if one of us is in the living room and the other one is in the bedroom, we won’t be able to talk—but then I realize that whoever is out in the living room can still snoop around.
Dad shakes his head. “I’d feel more comfortable with both of you in the room with me. I’m a little… on edge right now.” His eyes flicker to the gun and I understand. Maybe he isn’t just trying to prevent us from finding stuff out. Maybe he’s actually worried about our safety.
I thought this was a safe house.
Without any more complaints, I walk past him into the bedroom. Jeremy stays put.
“Jeremy, come on,” says Dad.
“He can sleep in my room if you guys don’t have enough space,” Pam offers. Her face colors and she amends, “Or, well, really I guess it would be more appropriate for Krystie to sleep in my room. Right?”
So she went from thinking we were spies to wanting us to sleep in her room with her? What’s up with that?
“Thanks for the offer, but they’ll be fine,” Dad tells Pam. “Kids, let’s go before we wake your sister with all our chatter.”
Jeremy makes a move toward the couch, but Dad’s gaze is unusually stern, so he relents. Dad makes small cots out of blankets for us on the floor, and with nothing else to do, we fall asleep.
I wake up to sun streaming through the small windows and the sound of Rachel’s little voice chattering away behind the closed door. For a moment, I forget where I am. I think I’m back home in my bed, and everything that happened in the last day has been nothing but a weird, confusing dream. Then I realize I’m lying on the floor in an unfamiliar bedroom. My neck is stiff and my back is sore.
I yawn and get up. The rest of my family must be up already; I’m the only one left in the room. I peek out the window and see nothing but rolling farmland and thick woods. We really are in the middle of nowhere.
Excitement comes over me as I realize this is a perfect opportunity to snoop. Keeping my ears open for the sounds of anyone opening the door or talking about going into the bedroom, I get to work opening drawers and cabinets, peeking under the nightstand and the little dresser. There’s got to be something significant here. But all I’m finding is gray T-shirts and worn-out jeans and socks and underwear. Geez, people say my wardrobe is boring. At least I wear some color and variety.
Finally, in the nightstand drawer, under a can of deodorant and a pack of gum, I find something that looks promising. It’s a piece of paper with addresses on it. 95 Kirpack Lane, 507 Ridgemont Street, 21 Harris Hook Road...
The door to the room bangs open and I jump back, guiltily throwing the piece of paper back into the drawer. But it’s just Rachel. “You’re up!” she exclaims. “I’m going to go play outside with Pam. Wanna come?”
“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” I tell her, realizing I’m starving. “You go play and I’ll come outside later.”
“Okay!” Rachel turns and skips out of the room.
I feel slightly snubbed. Okay? At home, Rachel constantly begs me to play with her. She won’t stop asking until I either relent or start yelling at her. She’s never satisfied with just an, “I’ll play later.”
I’m about to go back to reading the list of addresses, but Mom breezes into the room. “Oh good, you’re up.”
“Yeah,” I say, positioning my body in front of the drawer so she won’t notice that it’s open.
“I made pancakes.” Mom’s smiling as if we’re just at home and this is an ordinary Saturday or something, but I can see the worry in her eyes. “I was coming in to wake you up so you could get some before they’re all gone.”
I make myself nod. “Okay. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”
“All right.” Mom looks at me, compassion in her eyes now. “I know this is hard on you kids. But eventually it’ll be over. Dad and Bill are working on a plan right now about how they’re going to finish Dermott for once and for all.”
Is this my mother speaking? My mom, who got mad at Dad for letting us watch Star Wars when we were little because she thought it was too violent? She’s now talking about finishing someone for once and for all?
I wait for her to leave the room so I can go back to looking at the list of names. But she sets about folding up the blankets on the floor and tidying up the room, so I just wait until her back is turned and then stuff the piece of paper in my pocket.
I go out to the kitchen to eat breakfast, and moments later, Mom comes and joins me. We both sit there, not talking, which is weird because up until now, Mom and I have always had a great relationship. I’ve always told her about everything that’s going on at school, and she’s always been a wonderful listener. But now—in the face of danger and when everything is so uncertain—we have nothing to talk about. At least, nothing I actually want to talk about that she’s allowed to tell me about.
So instead I stare out the window at the rolling landscape. Rachel and Pam are running around, chasing each other out there. Pam picks Rachel up and gives her a piggyback ride. A fleeting feeling of jealousy passes through me. I’m Rachel’s big sister. I’m the one she always wants to play with. And now she’s having a blast with this girl we only just met yesterday?
“Where are the guys?” I ask Mom.
“Jeremy’s in the shower, and Dad and Bill are talking in the truck.”
“About how to take Dermott out.”
Mom nods.
“Where even is Dermott now? Do they know?”
“No. But they have… ways… of finding out.”
“What do you mean?”
Mom shakes her head. “Never mind. You don’t need to worry about it. We’re going to stay here, you and me and Jeremy and Rachel, until Dad and Bill have taken care of Dermott. This is a safe place.”
But a safe place isn’t good enough. I want answers.
At that moment, the bathroom door opens and Jeremy steps out, dressed in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, drying his hair with a towel. “Hey Krystie,” he says. “After you’re done eating, we should go out and play with Pam and Rachel.”
It’s such an odd request for Jeremy to make—even at home, I’m the one who always plays with Rachel. But it only takes me a second to realize why he’s suggesting what he’s suggesting.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Maybe we can play some sort of game or something.”
If Mom’s suspicious of our motives, she doesn’t show it. “Be safe,” she warns us. “Stay in sight of the house. I don’t know this area. I don’t know what’s around.”
The moment we’re out the door, Jeremy looks at me. “We have to get Rachel inside so we can press Pam for information.”
“We could just ask her in front of Rachel. Couldn’t we?”
Jeremy shakes his head. “Probably not a good idea. Rachel has ears like a bat and a mouth like a parrot. Even if she doesn’t understand what we’re talking about, she’s sure to repeat it to Mom or Dad.”
He has a good point. “So… how are we going to get her to go back inside?”
“I guess she doesn’t have to go inside, exactly. Maybe you could take her a little distance away while I talk to Pam.”
I frown. Then I’ll miss out on all the first-hand information. “Or you could take her a little distance away and I could talk to Pam,” I suggest. “She’d probably be more likely to want to talk to another girl. Especially because she thinks boys are dumb.”
Jeremy scowls. “Only because she’s never actually met kids her age in real life and gets all her information from those stupid girl books about drama and crushes.”
“Still.” I shrug. “It doesn’t change what she believes.” I start making my way over to where Pam and Rachel are spinning around in circles, holding each other’s hands.
“Hold up,” said Jeremy. “I don’t want to miss out on whatever Pam says.”
“Well, neither do I!”
We don’t have a plan, but we head toward Pam and Rachel together. “Hey Rachel!” I call out.
She doesn’t answer. She’s too busy laughing as Pam tickles her.
“Rachel!” I say, more loudly this time, and Pam stops tickling her and they both look up.
“Krystie! Jeremy! You should play with us. Pam is so fun!” Rachel exclaims, a grin taking over her whole face. She has nothing to be afraid of. To her, the weirdness of yesterday has all evaporated into a sun-filled day and a large grassy field and a new friend to play with.
“Actually, Rache, you need to go inside for a minute. Mommy wants you,” Jeremy says, making it up as he goes along. I frown, wishing he could have come up with an excuse that didn’t involve lying. Our parents always taught us that being honest is one of the most important things.
Of course, how much is honesty worth if you leave huge gaps of information out, such as Our last name isn’t really Jackson and We’ve had people chasing after us since before you were born?
Rachel pouts. “But I want to keep playing with Pam!”
“You can play more with Pam later,” Jeremy promises. “Go see Mommy now.”
Rachel takes Pam’s hand. “Come on, let’s go see what Mommy wants.”
“No!” Jeremy and I both exclaim at the same time.
Pam looks at us suspiciously.
“Rachel, um, I think Mommy wants to help you with something, uh, private,” I improvise, knowing that I’m now contributing to the lie and hating myself for it. “Like a secret for just you and her.”
“Pam can know the secret. She’s my best friend.”
An irrational sense of jealousy courses through me. Pam is not Rachel’s best friend. Rachel just met her last night. I’m Rachel’s best friend. I’m the one who’s been playing with her and singing to her and teaching her things since the day she was born.
“It’s a family secret,” I say, stressing the word family to reiterate the fact that Pam is not part of it. “Pam will be right here waiting for you when you come out.”
Pam is looking at both of us with a worried expression on her face, like she can tell something’s up but doesn’t know what.
“Maybe Mommy has a special treat for you,” Jeremy adds. “Maybe after you talk to her you can come back out and give some to Pam.”
Rachel’s face brightens at the prospect of a special treat. “Okay,” she says. “Pam, you stay right here. I’ll be right back.”
As soon as Rachel is gone, Jeremy and I both turn to Pam. She’s glaring at us distrustfully. “If you try to mug me,” she says threateningly, “I’ll beat you both into a pulp. I’m stronger than I look, and my dad’s been teaching me self-defense since I learned how to walk.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, two of us, one of you, I don’t think you’ll stand much of a chance. But lucky for you, that’s not why we’re here. We just want to finish the conversation we started last night.”
“There’s nothing more to say,” says Pam defiantly.
“Yeah, there is,” I argue. “You were laughing at us and saying our parents never told us anything. What is it that your dad told you that you don’t think we know?”
“If your parents don’t think you should know it, you shouldn’t know it,” Pam retorts in a smart-alecky tone of voice.
“We know about this,” I say, pulling the folded piece of paper out of my pocket. Pam lunges for it, but I hand it off to Jeremy, who opens it high above all of our heads.
“Kirpack Lane, Ridgemont Street, Harris Hook Road, Timbuckle Drive, Marilyn Way… any of these places mean anything to you?” Jeremy asks Pam.
Marilyn Way. There was a Marilyn Way near one of the places we used to live, maybe in Iowa or Wisconsin or something, I don’t really remember. But I remember that street name because there was a girl in my class at school named Marilyn, and I always used to wonder if Marilyn Way was named after her.
I gasp. “Jeremy, let me see that paper again.”
Jeremy hands me the paper, and I scan the page until my eyes fall on Marilyn Way and I see what city it’s located in: Ames, Iowa. I skim through the rest of the page, looking at only the cities this time.
“Jeremy,” I say shakily. “Every town on this list is somewhere we’ve lived.”
